Log in

The Existential Compost

Livejournal Flavour

3rd June 2015

[sticky post] Always open to new Friends! (with occasional intimate filtered bits) @ 15:15

For the really juicy intimate bits you'll probably need to add me as a friend and get to know me. But for the external veneer you don't need to add me. However, if you would like me to add you, please leave a comment and I'll consider additions.

Not got an LJ Account? Sign up! It's easy!

Or see profile for Facebook and Twitter links

6th September 2016

An open letter to sticky toffee pudding with hot custard @ 22:10

Current Grassiness: hungry hungry
Current sounds: Air - Dirty Trip | Powered by Last.fm

Dear Sticky Toffee Pudding with Hot Custard,

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry I can't eat you at the moment. You've been calling me for two weeks now. Quiet at first. Almost a whisper. Maybe once a day. Now you're calling me every hour. Sometimes several times an hour. Unfortunately, we can never be as one. Well not at the moment.

I know we've had meetings several times in the past and they were fun. We had so much fun. The pleasure you gave me. The satisfaction of spoonsful of your hot creamy goodness being ladled into my mouth. The feeling of your moist, sweet and sticky sponginess on my tongue making me groan in adoration and delight. But no more. At least not for now.

We must wait. Wait for the time to be right to recreate our union. For now, I must share moments like those we once did, however fleeting, with two chocolate hobnobs and 10 salt crackers washed down with a hot cup of chemically sweetened tea.

They're not as good as you. Nor will they ever be. It is my lot. My penance for our previous overindulgences in your brown oozy goodness.

It will pass. Like a really difficult poo. Eventually. If we're patient.

Until then, we must accept the situation we find ourself in. Please stop calling me. Allow me to mourn your passing like a 12-inch pepperoni pizza with pineapple and anchovies, 5 finger cream cake selections and custard doughnuts. Allow me to transition through the eating regieme I now must follow. Taunt me no more you sweet seductive Enchantress of Confection.

Fond regards,


22nd August 2016

(no subject) @ 06:30


Poll #2052345 On the Buses

How old were you when you first caught a bus by yourself?

0-4 Years
5-10 Years
11-13 Years
14-16 Years
17-20 Years
I have never caught a bus by myself
I live on a bus
I am allergic to buses
Buses offend me
Buses are against my religion
What is a bus?
I hate you Butler
Ooo Arfur
I am a bus
I have never caught a bus because I can't find the right bait
I have never caught a bus because I can never find a net big enough

3rd June 2016

Richard Harris @ 18:56

Much like my recent revelation that Facebook is the natural evolutionary descendant of AOL and Compuserve style web portals, I was struck today with a thought about the impending EU referendum facing the UK in the next few weeks.

While using all my journalistic skills to not allude to which way I feel the referendum should go, I realised that the last time Britain was in a similar situation was when old Olly Cromwell convinced the country that regicide was the way forward for a better Britain. Although the concept of a British republic appeals to me (but only if we took the Leveller's approach), Cromwell's Britain, history tells us, was an unpleasant time with lots of people getting bumped off for being witches, some unfortunate destruction of castles and some nastiness for the Irish.

Now I'm not saying that we'll have an ancient monument destroying Irish persecuting witch burning time as a result of the outcome of the referendum but I can envisage a potentially awful period of history that could have similar catastrophic results.

I've never been more worried about a political choice decided by the public than this Referendum. Reflecting on the two previous referenda in the UK (the Scottish vote and the AV referendum, which I believe were trial runs) and the surprise result of the recent general election, I can't help feeling that insidious powers are at work to fudge the result to suit a cabal of nefarious ne'er do wells hell bent on a New World order, or an old one for that matter.

25th April 2016

Future @ 18:45

Some years back I went to see Tommy Steele at the Liverpool Empire with Previous-Mrs-Gnomepants, my mum and my dad. It was a Christmas present to my olds based on how much my mum liked Tommy Steele. During the show, this old geezer came on stage, sang a bit, then everyone clapped and we went home. I later found out that the old geezer was Tommy Steele.

Some years back I went to see the surviving members of Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band at the Liverpool Philharmonic Hall. I went on my own because Previous-Mrs-Gnomepants didn't like them. These old geezers came on stage. Tuned all the instruments, did a sound check by singing a bit, then  everyone clapped and went home. I later found out that the old geezers on stage were Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band.

Some years back I went to see Yes. Old geezers, on stage. Doing singing and being energetic. I knew they were Yes. I'd obsessed about them long enough.

Recently I have been writing my other blog, my Music Project (stegzysmusic) and listening to a whole load of bands and stuff. Some bands are goth, others metal and punk. I have been thinking of how the likes of Fields of Nephilim's Carl McCoy is now approaching his mid-fifties and it wont be too long before he reaches his sixties and beyond. I wonder, will he, when he is in his seventies (like Yes' Steve Howe) be performing Nephilim songs with his distinctive growls? How about those Scandenavian bands? Death growls aplenty. Will they too be performing late into their autumn years?

On Sunday, Zoe and I walked through Peasome Park in Scarborough and we saw a poster advertising a gig by Showaddywaddy. You might remember Showaddywaddy for their 1976 hit Under the Moon of Love, you might not. That aside, I related to the wife how I imagined some sixty pluser being quite excited at the prospect of seeing their performance:

Old dear Oooh I remember Showaddywaddy, their song wur playin' when I met your granddad. We danced and he kissed me.
Young grandchildAww that's nice gran

I then turned to a similar scenario forty years from now:

Futuristic Old dear Oooh I remember that Shakira, her song wur playin' when I met your granddad. We twerked, we went down an alley and had a shag, I didn't get his name
Young grandchildSTFU you old cow, I'm busy absorbing vacuous celebrity gossip through my nasal internet implant

I fear for the future of humanity.


21st April 2016

20th April 2016

Donkey Sausages @ 22:12

A wise old Irish man (now probably deceased) once said to me: "If you have a car, ye'll nay ha' nee money begorra"

At the time I was a young lazy twenteeny enjoying the relatively stress free post school fantasy life of cheap beer, cigarettes, not working much, computer games and porn. Owning a car seemed like a far off dream in which I would go straight to a classic car like a Capri or a Cortina which would be lovingly restored on Sundays followed by a loving wax and polish.

Then reality happened, I ended up working two jobs, the price of beer and fags rose, games became a luxury, porn stopped appearing in bushes in the park and within a few years I was driving a Citroen AX. Do you know what? The old Irish man was right. His words still reverberate as a truism in my consciousness. I've heard other version of the same addage in fact zoefruitcake has a similar philosophy, passed on to her by her mum.

Today I had an expensive lunch thanks to some passing knob head who thought the front lower grill on my Volkwagen Golf would look better on their Volkswagen Golf than mine. This, with the additionally mysterious "previously undetected during MOT" bald tyre, added a further unexpected £200 onto the £2000 bill already incurred by keeping the vehicle roadworthy this year. I guess I'll not be having any new spectacles or walking boots this side of summer.


On Sunday, being the daredevil and thrill seeker I am as well as being the kind of guy who likes to show a lady a good time, I took the wife to Dracote Water near Rugby to see the alpacas. After braving a biblical swarm of black flies, we eventually got to see the fluffy buggers, grazing peacefully on the hill side at the far end of the reservoir.

On the walk round we saw an event taking place, a Fun Military Mud Race. Basically, kids and dads running a 5km course through mud. I thought it looked like fun, Zoe said it looked like hell. Not the dads/kids thing, the mud. These days though, being a fatty not a fitty means the only thing I could run is a bath; running for a bus would be plain foolish. However, if I was still the young svelt athlete I was before I bought my first car, the thought of running through mud for shiz and gigz would probably have been most appealing (in between computer games and wanks of course).

On our return from the alpacas I witnessed beardy water sporty types (with topknots) gushing over a new scooter/bike hybrid some travelling mendicant was trying to promote. I imagined myself riding one. I imagined myself aboard one, all muscular, bronze, bearded and top knotted. Then realised what a knob I would have looked and immediately dismissed the idea.


The proliferation of men with "trendy" scruffy beards, top knots and half mast trousers seems to be growing at an alarming rate. Even chaps with uncut unkempt hair, a hairstyle I have been promoting since 1996, seems to be on the rise. It seems scruffy bugger is vogue at the moment. Of course being a hipster, I was doing all this twenty years ago. Now I like to stand out from the crowd. I do this by not being pierced at all and not having any tattoos while the rest of the world gets all inked and holey. I imagine a pathologist musing about how unique I am in that respect as they perform their autopsy on me. So as I see the "Lets All Look Like Stegzy" trend taking over the UK, I have to reassess and think, maybe a haircut is in order. I also remain, this month at least, beardless while the rest of my male work colleagues are sporting several varying degrees of beardiness.

I am winning at the cool.


This weekend Zoe and I are going to Scarborough for a jolly. For this posts photograph, here is the last picture I took in Scarborough in 2005.

I'm a lot fatter and less beardy now....


18th April 2016

Injunctions @ 19:46

Personally I don't give a flying fuck about Elton and David's threesome troubles, what I do give a flying fuck about is the insidious use of "injunctions" and for that matter super injunctions in regard to the use of off shore Panamanian bank accounts to circumvent local tax laws by political figures and heads of state.


3rd April 2016

Of Pools, Pubes and Polls @ 18:44

March turned out to be better than February could ever be. For one it wasn't February but ulitmately it was a month of busy weekends.

I don't usually like busy weekends. I like to relax on a Sunday. Get my homework done before school on Monday. Yes, at 42 I still have that Sunday anxiety. I'm only less stressed by Sunday because That's Life isn't on any more.

A trip to Liverpool was also had in March. I took Zoefruitcake to New Brighton for a day trip while my olds cooked dinner. New Brighton used to be a popular "seaside" (more estuary side) resort, much akin to Llandudno, Blackpool or, indeed, old Brighton. At one point it had a tower, a winter gardens, a pier and an amusement park. Gradually, however, things went wrong, people stopped coming, opting for more exotic places like Torremelinos, the tower burnt down (and was turned into luxury flats), the pier was washed away (and was turned into luxury flats), the winter gardens were given a bit of a down sizing (to make way for luxury flats) and the amusement park caught fire, got flooded, almost got sold to developers hoping to build luxury flats, was restored and then caught fire again and was restored once more by what one can only describe as a troupe of travelling carnival ride owners who now want to settle in some nice seaside luxury flats.

It does still have a castle and a lighthouse though (with planning permission pending for luxury flats).

Other events included, Easter.

Easter was pleasant. There was a moment when the expensive vegan chocolate I ordered for the Fruitcake nearly didn't arrive. But now she has at least a years supply of chocolate thanks to panic buying and late deliveries. So that should last her until Friday next week.

We also visited the Kelmarsh Show. We opted to go on the Sunday, arguing that with it being Easter Sunday, there would be nicer weather and less people. It was slightly busy but it was windy and cold though. Saw lots of nommy food and interesting stalls which, had I been wealthy, I would no doubt have spent a fortune in. Cakes, pies, jams, chutneys, hats, coats and even guns and walking sticks were available. A shame I had only £10. The show was rained off on the Monday so I think we were lucky. Roll on Hollowell in July!

In other website news, the music project has finally reached "G". I've been scared of G because I had a lot (30) of albums titled "Gothic Music Compiliation". After some determined digital spring cleaning, I managed to reduce them to one. However, I then realised I had a lot of albums titled "Greatest Hits". I expect to reach "H" some time in August.


Took a trip to West Wycombe to see the Hell Fire Caves. Curiously they're laid out very similarly to the Shell Grotto in Margate and Williamson Tunnels in Liverpool. I mused on whether anyone else had noticed the similarities. Probably not.

Anyway, it was during our visit I became aware of how people these days seem to just race through attractions like this without actually reading or listening to the information provided, finding out why these things are here, how they were built and why and I wondered also if people enjoy being fucking ignorant.


It's election time in Parish Council environs. It's an odd time. I have to fill in about 10 forms and hand deliver them (by appointment) before April 7th. I have little time left. One of the questions the form asks for is my electoral roll number. I didn't know it. I do now. I was so fucking ignorant. I enjoyed being so.


Please watch this:

Do you shave your intimate bits?

Mind your own business
I am allergic to pubes
I am offended by pubes
I don't believe in the existence of pubes
Pubes are against my religion

Do you know your electoral roll entry number?


8th March 2016

March of March @ 21:09

The beard didn’t last but due to post pubescence neither did the smooth baby bum face.

I now no longer have a beard; I am not a hipster.

The other weekend, wife and I went to Coton Manor Gardens in Northamptonshire. I think if I had a massive house with beautiful gardens I too would charge people £3.50 (out of season) to have a mooch around. As it happens, I live in a tiny house with a beautiful garden. I think comparatively, I should charge people £1 to have a mooch around. It has impressive weeds and interesting concrete features.

Linked.in was always a go to place for me to find work. I’m rapidly realising that I would loath working with many of the people on my “connections”. I cringe when people become all “corporate” and “product” orientated and some of the job titles people give themselves make me glad I voluntarily reject that lifestyle and mentality. Especially as, with each budget, it seems I’ll be able to retire when I’m in my 90s if it continues. The thought of working in an environment like that is just soul destroying.

Had a rib eye steak tonight. I’d been looking forward to it since the weekend. Sadly it was rancid by the time I’d taken it out of the wrapping, cooked it and cut a piece off to eat. In the end, the wife and I nipped out to Waitrose where I obtained a fresher but slightly less glamorous sirloin.

I attended a lecture about cuts of beef a few years ago which taught me a lot about the various cuts of beef. The best being the spider steak (so called because the fat looks like a spider, or so I’m told) and that the level of marbling in the steak indicates the level of flavour. Back in the day, leaner steak was more expensive than fattier steak, purely led by the surge towards cutting fat in the diet and in some “cheaper” supermarkets this is still the case. Waitrose is wise to this and make the fattier pieces more expensive while the leaner pieces of meat tend to be “standard” prices.

Oh marketing. Oh lifestyles. What wicked relatives you are.


The Existential Compost

Livejournal Flavour